Chocolate Covered Cherries
by Katu-Bunny
Summary: Willy Wonka fanfiction. Based mostly on the new Johnny Depp movie, but also a lot of the books and the Gene Wilder version. Premovie. Nicole gets dared to sneak into the old Wonka factory, and when she does, she gets a lot more than she bargained for.
1. Getting In

Disclaimer: I do not own Willy Wonka or his chocolate factory, but I do own some of his chocolate.

This is, unavoidably, a Mary-Sue. The character is not a Mary-Sue in and of herself, but the situation is Suey. It is a well-written, hopefully forgivable Sue, but I would be lying if I said it wasn't one. However, I do beg that you give me a chance before discrediting my work. I've actually put a lot of work into this, and I would appreciate your comments. Even if they're flames.

**A note on the new Burton/Depp film:** When I wrote and posted this, it was months and months before the movie came out. My Wonka is not the same as Johnny's, nor is it quite Gene's, nor is it quite Dahl's. It's probably mostly Dahl, with some Gene thrown in, in the skin of Depp, but as you read, I aptly encourage you to picture your favourite Wonka. I have tried not to describe him, physically, but when I have, feel free to ignore. All Wonkas are love. .

Also, any formatting errors should be blamed on our buggy host. Anyway, on to the fic!

* * *

Oh, sorry to interrupt...one last thing. I have a rule: If you're going to write a fic that includes an original character, make sure that it starts out in a canon character's point of view. This is an excellent rule for writing decent fiction, and I have completely broken it. I'm sorry.

* * *

The factory sign creaked on its hinges in the wind, squeaking like a trapped bat in the cold air. The nighttime sky was promising rain - and soon. Nicole stood on the footpath, against the brick wall, surveying the dark factory opposite. Her mission sounded so easy: get in, get a token to prove that she'd been, and get out. If she succeeded, she would be the talk of the town for months, and earn the respect of her tight-knit circle of male friends. Her female friends knew better, of course, and respected her all ready, but the male mind needs to be impressed. 

"No one goes in, no one comes out..." she whispered to herself, staring at the iron gates that barred the factory and its elusive owner from the rest of the world. Not a single window was lit in the whole factory, and she thought that it was little wonder that no one ever went in...it may just have been the dinge of night, but the place looked positively, downright creepy. And she had to get in there, somehow.

The first few adventurous droplets of rain fell with plops onto the street, and a couple landed on Nicole's head, running down her hair to land on her sweater. It wouldn't be long before the sky unleashed its deluge on the girl's unprotected head, so she would need to get inside, and soon.

* * *

The walls seemed impenetrable, the gates tall and sturdy, and Nicole was not small enough to fit between them. There wasn't any immediate way to get in, and the young girl was really not at all sure she would be able to accomplish the task set for her. The rain was coming down harder, now, obscuring her vision. If she was going to get inside at all, it would need to be quickly, before all visibility was reduced to the meagre inch or two beyond her nose. 

"This is stupid," she declared, and an observer may have been surprised at the thick English accent with which she spoke, "I should just go home."

But as she thought of her latest memory of home - her mother screaming at her meek father, while the children tried to hide in their respective beds - she conjectured that the rain might be prefferable. She tested the bars to see if any of them would come loose, but they were firmly welded, and barely rusted, at all.

The rain was so thick now that not even the creepy man who sold brushes and dirty odds and ends, who was infamous for trying to scare kids away from the factory and who smelled like a sewer, was out. Nicole could hardly see a thing, and her cold fingers groped at the stone wall blindly. She felt along it, stumbling in the dark, the fog, and the downpour of rain. She couldn't get home, now, if she wanted.

"Please," she mumbled to herself, or perhaps to the unforgiving concrete of the wall, begging it to offer her a crack or a step up or anything...

Nicole fell flat on her face. This was not due to excessive clumsiness, though it was fair to say that she was not the most graceful of girls. Neither was this due to lack of vision, though it was also true that she could hardly see at all. It was also not attributed to slipperiness of pavement, though, again, this was a fact. No, her sudden trip to visit the sidewalk was prompted almost completely by a tree root that had taken up residence in the asphalt. It was, conviniently enough, attached to a large oak tree that seemed to be trying valiantly to protect its bruised victim of perambulatory obstacles from the torrential rain. Nicole felt around herself. The tree was less than a foot from the wall, and, upon closer inspection and cautious experimenting, there was a stone just outgoing enough to provide a foothold for Nicole's small feet. Leaning against the tree with one foot on the stone wall, she managed to grab hold of the lowest branch of the oak.

She very nearly laughed out loud with delight when she managed to pull herself up on to the slick branch without falling or incurring splinters. There might very well be a way into the factory, this way! Or perhaps, at least, she could crouch down under an overhang somewhere in the factory grounds until the rain died down far enough for her to emerge. She climbed up two more branches, until she was on one strong enough to hold her weight further out - over the wall. She looked down. It seemed to be a pretty far drop, and she was not even a fair-weather friend of heights.

But there! There was the answer! There was a smaller branch, lower down, just big enough to hold her weight, so that she could swing safely to the ground.

When her feet finally touched the squishy grass, she breathed a sigh of relief. One obstacle overcome! Now, to get into the factory itself.

* * *

The wall was brick, and appeared as impenetrable as the outer one. But this time, Nicole doubted she would be able to climb a tree to surmount it. There had to be a door, somewhere!

Her small fingers were getting almost sore from feeling her way around. There was certainly no door around here...

"Ouch!" Nicole cried out. In her careless caressing of the rough brick, she'd knocked her fingers against an odd one, sticking out lengthwise when it should have been lying flat like the rest of them. She put her fingers in her mouth and sucked them as if trying to pull the pain out of them with vacuum.

Then it caught her eye. She'd nearly missed it, because it blended so well with the bricks, but it was most definitely a door. It was brick-patterned, but there were hinges, and a doorhandle. She gripped it, turned it, and pushed.

* * *

She was expecting it to be locked. She was expecting to have to walk away disappointed, and hide beneath the scarce cover of a bush. So when the door swung open, allowing Nicole to rush gratefully into the building, she was very surprised.

And also very wet. She was dripping puddles on the floor, to her dismay. She picked up her skirt and tried her best to will herself not to sully the clean, dry floor of the factory, but her clothes paid her silent admonishments no heed.

"Oh bugger," she swore, under her breath.

* * *

The inside of the factory seemed to be one, long, endless hallway. Nicole had, in her wanderings of the past hour or so, managed to become almost completely dry. When she had accepted that her clothes were not going to cease dripping, she decided to cut her losses and wring them out at the door. She removed her sweater and held it out in the hopes that it would dry quickly (it did), and wrung out her ankle-length skirt to the best extent modesty would allow. Of course, no one was about to see her almost-white legs and nondescript undergarments, but that did not quite forgive the exposure. Nonetheless, she was now comfortably dry, if not completely.

Her shoes, however, were still squishy.

The hallway she was in, with its lavendar walls and peach-coloured floor, was empty and seemed to go on forever. Nicole walked timidly down it, and her every footfall seemed as loud as a shout.

"My dear girl, what are you doing here?" came the startling sound of a bemused voice.

Nicole jumped and spun around immediately. Behind her stood a man with a starched violet shirt tucked into a pair of plain, black dress pants. His hair was brown, down just to the bottoms of his ears, and on his face was a most peculiar, almost worried smile. He seemed ageless, and so perfectly manicured it was almost unnatural. Nicole wondered, noting the man's shoes, how he had managed to come up behind her so silently.

"You're not an Oompa Loompa, are you?" he asked, one of his eyebrows raised, slightly. When he spoke, dazzlingly white, perfectly straight teeth peeked out from behind the fleshy curtains of his lips.

"N-no, sir," she stammered, wondering if this man was completely mad, or just playing some sort of trick on her. Who ever heard of a...what was it? An Oompa Loompa? Grown-ups were not supposed to fib.

"No, of course not," he agreed, "You're far too tall and you don't look at all like one. Why, your ears aren't even pointed. And if those are leaves," he indicated her clothing, "Then it must be from a tree that not even I have ever seen!"

"No, sir. They're clothes. I'm just a person."

"Ah," said the man, with an air of reprimand, "Oompa Loompas are people too, merely a different kind. They're people as much as you or I or the cats and dogs and hamsters and ferrets and ocelots and wogglebeasts that we keep as pets! How did you get in here?"

The man had decided to add a bit of sense to the end of his tirade, and Nicole was slightly taken aback by it. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and she stammered, her voicebox apparently stuck on the word "I" for a moment, but she recovered soon enough.

"I got lost..." she said, wondering if a sentence that small was really worth all the effort she'd made to say it, and if perhaps she should just turn and run home. She might have done so, but she knew full well that she wouldn't be able to find her way out of the factory alone. Meanwhile, the man was looking at her with a vague disapproving air. "Please don't turn me away, sir. It's raining."

"Is it? Raining, now. My, my. Good heavens. Goodness gracious me. Oh deary deary dear, yes..." the man continued to mumble such nonsense as he turned to a wide screen on the wall behind him (had that been there a moment ago? Certainly Nicole would have recognised a screen that large on the otherwise blank wall...) and pressed a number of buttons. Suddenly there was a crack of thunder, and the hallway became even brighter. Nicole jumped, acutely ashamed. She hated when she did that.

"Certainly, raining it is. Well, now, that won't do at all." The man pressed a single red button and turned to Nicole. His face was wet, raindrops running down and threatening to soil his lovely silk shirt. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and daubed himself off. "Oh dear, I really must remember not to look so closely next time. I always forget. Dear me," he said, throwing off small, unenthusiastic exclamations of surprise like rice at a wedding. He looked down at Nicole, who was nearly a foot shorter than he, with contemplation. Eventually he shrugged and heaved a sigh. "Well, I suppose there's nothing to be done about it."

He turned to head off through a doorway just a couple of feet away. Nicole was _positive_ that that hadn't been there before. His hand grasped the knob, and it suddenly occured to the young girl that this strange man was just going to leave her there! Partly because the man intrigued her, and partly because she feared the door would disappear once he walked through it (hogwash, certainly, for doors did not disappear into thin air), she spoke.

"Wait!"

The man waited. He turned his head to face her. "Yes, what is it, my dear? I really haven't the time you know...terribly busy."

"_You_ aren't an Oompa Loompa, are you?" she asked, stepping forward.

"No, not the last time I checked. Of course, my checks aren't always accurate, and things may have changed without my notice. How tall would you say I am?"

"Um. Perhaps six feet?"

"Not an Oompa Loompa, then. Satisfied, or must I take off my socks?"

Nicole wasn't quite sure how that followed, but had more important questions to ask.

"Then, and pardon me if I'm being impetuous - "

"Ah, impetuous! Why, you certainly are! Impetuous, precocious, and impulsive, you seem to be. However, since you ask forgiveness, I shall grant it. And now, good night, good evening, good morning, good day, and good bye," the man finished, and made to shut the door behind him.

"Are you Willy Wonka?" Nicole blurted out, almost desperately.

A head appeared from the door, looking either way surreptitiously. "Where? Oh, me, you mean. Yes. William F. Wonka, at your service, except not really, because I am quite busy indeed, and were I really at the service of every - but that hardly matters. What might your name be?"

"Nicole," she stated, and continued quickly before the man, now identified as the eccentric owner of the chocolate factory, could say anything else, "Heltquist. Please, Mr. Wonka, I don't wish to intrude, but I don't know my way around, and I wouldn't want to bumble into anything important..."

Wonka appeared thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Well, I guess you had better come with me, then. Yes, come on now, I haven't got all day, my dear." He ushed Nicole through the door and shut it behind her.

The room Nicole entered was a strange one, indeed. All of the furniture in it was cut in half, from the half-tiles across the floor to the half a lamp hanging from the ceiling precariously.

"Pardon the mess, I don't usually have visitors. I discourage them, in fact," Wonka said, half-heartedly rummaging through some papers as if to tidy them.

"Everything's cut in half," Nicole said, the words escaping her mouth a half-second before her brain could intercept them.

"No it isn't, don't be ridiculous. Why would I cut all my furniture in half? That would be completely nonsensical, my dear, and I am a very logical man. Very logical indeed," he professed, sitting on half of a chair.

"But...But there's only half of any one thing."

"Oh, that. Yes, I suppose I can see where you might have gotten confused. It's all a half-formed idea, really. You see, I get so distracted at times that I only have time to form half of a thought before I move on to the next. This room makes me feel comfortable because my half-baked ideas feel slightly more whole, here."

"I see," Nicole lied, not seeing at all. She wasn't at all sure this had been a good idea. She wondered if she might be dreaming?

"Now do sit down somewhere and be quiet. I have so little work to do and so much time to do it in. Oh, strike that. Reverse it. Thank you."

Whatever Nicole had been expecting to find in the factory, a crazed (perhaps half-crazed, she thought as she considered the partial rocking chair she'd been offered) old man had not been it. Well, not old, precisely. He didn't look much older than her oldest brother, and he acted as if he were a tangenital young adolescent. But there was an air of wisdom about him, as if he'd been alive many years, and seen many things. It was one of many mysterious things about him.

She turned to look around her again. There was half a diploma on the wall, awarded to a one "William F W-," and issued from "University of Wh-." Signed by Squiggle McSq-. She wondered what the F stood for, but hesitated to ask. Wonka was sitting at his desk, writing with half a quill, and occasionally sending half a glance back at Nicole.

"I say, could you be a bit quieter? I am trying to work."

"I - I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't making any noise."

"Yes you were. You're thinking, are you not?"

"Yes, sir...but thinking doesn't - "

"Certainly it does, my dear young lady. Now, I must ask you not to think. Just sit there, please."

"I can't not think!" Nicole protested, standing up in distress, "You always have to be thinking of something, otherwise how will you know you're alive?"

"Ah, the old 'I think, therefore I am' theory. You would make a terrible monk."

Wonka turned half his swiveling chair and faced Nicole with scrutiny. He stroked his chin. Then he looked at the floor and sighed.

"Well, if you will insist on thinking, then I suppose you shall have to wait somewhere else. But I can't just let you run loose, no. I have half a mind to just excuse you - " he caught Nicole's eye, and gave her half a smile, " - but I suppose it's still raining, isn't it. You shall have to wait in my room. I shall lock you in. Yes, yes, that's really the only thing for it. Oh dear." Wonka stood and went to half of the door. He turned the 2/4ths of a handle halfway to the right, and pulled the door 50 percent open. Beyond it was a predominantly purple-coloured room, the floor neat and tidy, the ceiling littered with clothing and crumpled papers. Nicole knew better than to ask, because she was certain she would recieve an explanation along the lines of "I kept tripping over the mess, and wardrobes are really terribly expensive..."

She entered the room.

"Please feel around, but don't look at anything. Wait. Strike that. Reverse it. Thank you. Especially avoid the drawer."

"The drawer?" Nicole replied, but the door had all ready shut, and the sound of a key turning in a lock could be heard. She sighed. She'd definitely gotten more than she bargained for, accepting that dare.

* * *

Nicole was fourteen and three months. She didn't remember getting so old, so quickly, but somehow it had happened. Fourteen had just snuck up on her and bound her up in its hold. Now she had to deal with things like boys. Emotions. Breasts. She was both excited about it and irritated at it. She was glad to be growing up...but at the same time, rather wished it would all happen at once, so that all of the silly, awkward feelings she was encountering would have been over by now.

Nicole was relatively pretty. Young-looking, for her age, at least around her face. She had rounded cheeks, eyes that were prone to squint when she smiled broadly, and a childish mouth full of small white teeth. Her hair was medium-brown and straight, and she was, truth be told, slightly plump. Not fat, just slightly rounded. She preferred to think of herself as fluffy, like a marshmallow, or a little yellow chick, though she wouldn't admit that to her male friends, who still thought that girls had cooties, and would probably throw a fit if she said the words "fluffy little chick" to them.

She kicked her feet against the side of the bed. She assumed that when Wonka instructed her not to touch anything, the four-poster had been exempt from that rule. Of course, Nicole thought with more than a hint of amusement, he might well be expecting to enter the room and find her levitating so that she was not even touching the floor.

There were bookshelves full of strange and interesting-looking tomes. Nicole ached to pull one off the shelf and delve into its contents, but she didn't want to risk getting caught reading. Once she started, she often found it hard to stop, and she might not even hear the man come in. She had risked, however, taking a pair of gloves (carelessly left on the wardrobe instead of the ceiling). They were embroidered with Wonka's initials, and had a small chocolate stain on them. She hoped that would be proof enough for her friends. They lay, mauve and shiny, in Nicole's comparatively drab pocket.

She'd found out what Wonka meant by the drawer. The third drawer down on his nightstand was encumbered by a weighty, carved plaque. Engraved on the plaque, in flowery writing, was the following inscription:

**"Do not ever, under any circumstances, open this drawer! You will be sorry!"**

Nicole was rather put off by the enthusiastic punctuation at the end, but not so much as she was by the curiosity that begged her to open it. She knew she shouldn't. Of course she shouldn't. He'd told her not to. There was a sign on it. Yet, somehow, she knew she would. She would just peek. It was all right. It couldn't hurt her.

Her fingers brushed the handle on the drawer. It was okay. Perhaps there would be a secret chocolate recipe in there! That would definitely show her friends! Excited anew, she took a firm hold on the handle, and tugged.

* * *

What followed was the most raucous, cacophonic, noisy din Nicole had ever had the misfortune to unleash. It screamed, it shrieked, it pounded, it thumped, it bumped, it clanged, it squawked, it crashed, it smashed, it sounded like a million circuses, concerts, and carnivals colliding. The drawer, which she had accidentally pulled straight out of the dresser, fell to the floor as Nicole's hands flew up to protect her poor, seashell ears.

"I told you not to open the drawer!" The door had flown open and Willy Wonka had entered, rushing like a train on butter, "They always open the drawer..."

He lifted the empty drawer from the floor and calmly replaced it in the dresser. Then he shut it, and the hullabaloo died instantly. Nicole cautiously removed her hands from her ears, a sheepish look on her face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka, I - "

"Can't you read, young lady? It distinctly says, '**Do not ever, under any circumstances, open this drawer! You will be sorry!**'"

"Yes, and I am sorry, I really am!"

Wonka heaved a sigh and looked at Nicole. She felt like she was required to say something.

"What does it do?"

"Well, it makes a lot of noise, doesn't it?" Wonka said, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

There was silence in which Wonka got to his feet and put his hands on his hips.

Nicole's face turned slightly pink, like a pig in the sunshine. She'd barely been in Mr. Wonka's room for ten minutes and all ready she'd disobeyed a direct order. Her downcast eyes traversed the black pants, purple silk, and landed on the candyman's pensive face. She bit her lip, waiting for the admonishment that she knew was coming.

"No," Wonka said, finally, "No, I don't suppose a candy that eats itself would sell very well. Wouldn't make too many children happy, to find that the candy they'd just purchased was all ready gone. Still, an amusing thought, nonetheless. Now, Miss Nicole, it appears that I can't really let you out of my sight, but I can't work with you here. So I suppose I shall be forced to simply sit still and suffer sociality."

He took a seat on the bed, and gestured for Nicole to sit down, as well. "You'll have to pardon my lack of social graces, I don't often have anyone - as a matter of fact, I never have any guests, save for the Oompa Loompas."

Nicole's mouth opened, but before "What's an Oompa Loompa?" could get out from betwixt her lips, "Don't you get lonely?" shouldered its way past and escaped first.

"No, the Oompas are more than enough company. They're delightful creatures, really they are. So helpful. Would you like some hot chocolate?"

"Oh, um...yes, please," Nicole stammered, rather startled by the sudden, friendly smile on the man's face.

Wonka snapped his fingers, and a moment later, a short man, strangely garbed, appeared. Wonka smiled at him. "Do run to the nearest chocolate and fetch two mugs of hot kitchen, would you please?" He noticed Nicole's giggling, and looked to the elflike man standing beside the bed. "Did I say something wrong?" Before the Oompa could answer, though, Wonka slapped his forehead and let out a hearty laugh. "Strike that, reverse it. Thank you, my good sir, and do be quick, fast, speedy, rapid, and with alacrity about it."

Wonka then turned to Nicole, "Now, you never did tell me quite how you got into my factory. No one, to my knowledge, has ever gotten in, before, yet here you stand, all though, I tell a lie, you are, in fact, sitting, plain as day, on my mattress. How ever did you get past the rabid Hobblerabbits?"

"I...I didn't see any, Mr. Wonka."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you? They're invisible. I thought every child knew at least that much. What are they teaching nowadays in those fancy-pants schools of yours?"

"Reading, writing, maths - "

"Fiddle-faddle! Absolute codswallop! Not to mention a great deal of flimflam and tomfoolery, with just a pinch of flapdoodle, as well. Writing! Arithmatic! Tell me, young Nicole, what is your arithmatic and writing going to do for you when you're attacked by a Horrendeous Hort? Will you write down a description of its gnashing, slavering, giant teeth? Will you multiply your artillery and divide the beast's wits so that you might subtract from the Hort population? Ridiculous, my dear girl, completely ridiculous what they teach these days. All that logic and not an ounce of sense. Ah! Our hot chocolate. Here you go, do sip it carefully, it's quite hot."

"Er, thank you, Mr. Wonka."

"Oh, do call me - " Wonka began, but stopped short, "Actually, to save time, nevermind. Mr. Wonka will do. Drink up!"


	2. Cultural Misunderstanding

Nicole lifted the mug to her lips gratefully, when suddenly she was startled out of drinking by peals of high, almost hysterical laughter. It was the Oompa Loompa. It seemed to have finally seen Nicole from behind his master. Her eyes widened, and she looked at Wonka with an incredulous, and slightly hurt, look. "What is he laughing at?"

Wonka, who seemed to be attempting to hold back a giggle or two himself, looked from the worker who was no taller than his socks, to the girl sitting beside him. "Well, what do you think? He isn't at all used to seeing people like us, and especially not young girls. Perhaps he is a bit impolite to laugh so, but you cannot blame him for finding your alien appearance amusing."

"He thinks I look funny?" Nicole asked with a tone of incredulity, and this prompted another bout of mirth from the Oompa Loompa. As a matter of fact, she was certain he'd do himself an injury if he laughed much harder. "Well, I think he looks rather strange, as well, if we're going to be talking about appearance."

The laughter stopped immediately. The Oompa's smile disappeared and his mouth straightened. He folded his arms over his tiny, deerskin-clad chest, pouting.

"My dear girl, I do believe you've offended him," Wonka pointed out, helpfully.

"Offended him!" Nicole cried, "Well, he offended me, first! I'm not funny-looking!"

"Now, don't let's have a row over a bit of good-natured laughter," Wonka insisted, holding up his hands placatingly, "You're as normal-looking as any young girl should be. Actually, I think you're kind of pretty." The words were out before anyone was quite aware of their meaning. Nicole turned pink. The Oompa smiled gleefully. Wonka tried to stare in angry consternation at his own mouth.

"Right. Anyway," Wonka said, shattering the silence and regaining the flow of things, "And he is as normal-looking as any handsome young Oompa Loompa fellow could hope to be, am I right? You see, it's little more than a cultural misunderstanding. Now, were I to make this face," Wonka contorted his face with the help of his hands, so that he resembled a wild-eyed pig, "You would think I was funny-looking, would you not?"

Both Nicole and the Oompa Loompa burst immediately into laughter, as people are wont to do when tension has just been running high.

"Yes," Nicole said, between chuckles, "I suppose I would."

"Of course," Wonka had not stopped making the face, and Nicole couldn't hold back her giggling, "But a female warthog might find me particularly attractive, and ask me to marry her. And I assure you, my dear girl, it would not be the first time such a creature has made me that offer." He let go of his face, allowing it to resume its normal, somewhat handsome proportions. His hands fell into his lap, and grasped his cocoa, which had been balancing perfectly still and even on the tip of his left knee.

"I believe I understand," Nicole chuckled. She faced the Oompa Loompa. "I'm sorry, little friend. I didn't mean to offend you. Of course you're quite handsome."

The Oompa Loompa bowed, his face slightly flushed with flattery, and he turned to go. On his way out, Nicole could hear him begin to sing; though she could not quite catch the words, she was certain she heard her name, and possibly Mr. Wonka's...and perhaps something to do with a tree...? Wonka chuckled, obscuring the rest of the fading lyrics. "I'm afraid I can't stop them singing. They're just so happy..." he waved his hands in a fleeting motion.

After Nicole had taken a few tiny sips of the steaming beverage in front of her, she became slightly more adventurous and took larger tastes. It was without doubt the best hot chocolate she had ever had the priviledge of ingesting. She said as much, and Wonka smiled at her and winked.

"Secret recipe, you know. So terribly secret, in fact, that I myself have forgotten it. Only a few priviledged Oompa Loompas in charge of the Hot Chocolate Kitchen remember it, now. May God forgive them if they forget it, and the recipe is lost forever. Perhaps I should write it down, sometime. I keep meaning to, but I always forget. My memory can be terribly addled at times. It's my old age, you know."

"How old are you, anyway?" Nicole asked, looking up from her hot chocolate with interest.

"I'm sorry, I'm a trifle deaf in this ear," he indicated the ear opposite Nicole, "You shall have to speak up next time. Oh, now what was I saying? Oh, yes. What, precisely, caused you to come to my factory, anyway?"

Nicole was beginning to get used to Mr. Wonka's strange way of speaking...he was a lover of non-sequitor and silly rants and raving...it was quite amusing. But to the question at hand, Nicole could not find a suitable answer. Somehow it didn't seem right to say that she was dared to do it.

"Well, I - " Nicole began, timidly, "I...er..." her mind raced, trying to find a suitable excuse. While it didn't seem right to say that she'd been dared, it would seem terribly audacious of her to say that she simply wished to gain entry, on a whim. It might imply that she thought that she had the right to just waltz into any old where, regardless of the occupants or Hobblerabbits. Eventually, her mouth provided an answer that her mind had not approved. "I ran away from home."

"Speak up, dear girl! I can barely hear you!"

"I ran away from home!" Nicole said, raising her voice above her lowly whisper, but her heart sinking in proportion. It was not precisely untrue, but it was not precisely true, either.

"Now, why ever would you do that? Home is a lovely place, or at least mine is. Home is where the hat is. Home is where you hang your heart. Why would you leave?"

"Er...My...My father," she blurted, unable to stop, "He...er...he...beat me," she lied, and inwardly winced at the bold-faced lie she'd told about her dear, gentle father. Her breath caught in her throat in anger and shame, but she tried to hide it. _My goodness,_ she thought to herself, _I'm a terrible fibber..._

"Did he, now." It was clear from the stern look in Wonka's eyes that he knew Nicole was lying. It wasn't as if it were anything less than obvious, after all, and Nicole's face burned red with the shame. She hadn't meant to lie, but somehow she had...She cast her eyes into her half-full mug of chocolate, and she shook her head slowly, willing tears not to form behind her shut eyelids.

"My...My friends dared me to," she admitted quietly. Despite the tightness in her chest, it felt good to get the truth out quickly; like a band-aid ripped off a wound.

"I see. And these," Wonka continued, and his tone was slightly steely around the edges but patient nonetheless, like a disappointed parent. He extracted the gloves coolly from her sweater pocket, "Were these part of that dare?"

At this Nicole was certain her tear glands were threatening to overflow. She'd always been tagged a crybaby when she was younger, and was finding that hard to overcome. But even if she hadn't had the predisposition toward shedding tears, she might have done anyway. For here was this dear man, being so kind by offering her chocolate and a place to stay the night, and she'd caused so much trouble all ready, and topped off the unpleasant sundae by trying to steal from him.

"I do wish you would pick a different pair," he said, when Nicole did not respond, "These happen to be my favourites."

By trying to steal his favourite pair of gloves. Nicole's heart dropped to her stomach. Sneaking, lying, stealing? What had come over her? Her head fell the same direction of her heart, but having been tightly tethered by her neck, merely hung there in dejection. Her shoulders shook slightly as she attempted to fight off the sobs that threatened to wrack her. Nicole didn't see it, but Wonka's stern expression slowly softened into one of concern at her sudden childish tears.

"Oh," Wonka cooed, softly, "No, no, no...there, there." He patted her gently on the shoulder, "You mustn't cry, dear girl, no harm was done...Go on, have another sip of cocoa."

She did, and it seemed to warm her into a sort of cheer. She coughed, and when she did, a smile erupted from her mouth onto her face. It was a most strange feeling, but hardly unpleasant. It was interrupted, however, when another flash of lightning and crash of thunder sent Nicole rocketing under Wonka's arm in fear. Unfortunately, her hot chocolate seemed equally afraid of the sudden noise, and sought refuge in her benefactor's lap and under his bedsheets. Wonka squeaked.

"Aargh! My bedsheets! My beautiful bedsheets! Well, don't dawdle, my dear girl, don't dilly and dally, dally and dilly, get up! Up, I say! Oh, and I just changed my bedclothing, as well. Trouble, trouble, trouble. Young lady, you really are - "

Tears were welling again, but Wonka caught himself before they had a chance to fall. He offered her a prim smile.

"But...no use crying over spilled chocolate, I always say. Step away from the bed, please," Wonka instructed. Nicole obeyed, and he reached up to pull a tethercord hanging from the ceiling. Just like magic, the section of his room containing his bed, nightstand, and lamp swung up and into the wall, replaced by another set of furniture of a different model and colour.

"Wow," Nicole breathed in awe, "I wish making my bed was that easy."

"Don't we all! I have tried exporting it for worldwide implementation, but unfortunately not everyone has Oompa Loompas on the next floor down to strip the bedclothing off and launder it, to polish the wooden headboard and replace the lightbulbs when needed."

"No, I suppose they wouldn't," Nicole admitted with half a smile. Wonka stepped forward and flopped himself onto the bed with his feet on the pillow, his head by the footboard.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day, gawking like a Guzzlefish?"

"Oh. No." Nicole perched herself on the edge of the bed, still clutching at her empty cocoa mug. She tried to suckle the last remaining droplets from it, but failed, and thus gave up and set it down. 


	3. The Labyrinth

"Mr. Wonka," Nicole began, brandishing her empty cocoa mug with half a nervous smile, "Er...might I have some more? I'm sorry if it's too much to ask, but it was so good, and - "

"More? Of the hot chocolate? Oh, certainly. Certainly, my puppet. There, now, and don't look so worried. Smile, do. There we are. You seem to have some misconception that I am an unkind man, and - "

"Oh, no, sir, I - "

Wonka held up a finger and gave Nicole a fixed look down his nose. "Now, don't interrupt."

"Sorry, sir."

"You are forgiven. Now, as I was saying...Er...Oh, goodness, what _was_ I saying? Do you recall? Oh, yes, of course. Hot chocolate. It's quite efficient to make, you know, and I've no objection at all to sharing it. As a matter of fact, it's rather pleasant to have someone to share it with. I've been rather hoping to expose it to someone other than the Oompa Loompas," he smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling in the lamplight.

"Er, glad to be of service," Nicole stated with a shy smile, and meant it.

"Hmm...but I would hate to bother the Oompa Loompas again...I usually just get it myself, but I can't leave you all alone...heaven knows what you'll get into..."

"Oh," Nicole said, slightly hurt, and the moreso because she knew there was truth in his words, "You don't have to...I don't need anymore."

But Wonka wasn't paying attention, his gaze now focused somewhere past Nicole's wide eyes, and it became apparent he was thinking. After a bit more staring and contemplation, Wonka seemed to reach a conclusion, and clapped his hands on his thighs.

"I suppose it couldn't do much harm. Would you like to come to the kitchen with me?" he inquired. What sounded like such a trivial question was much more portentous when Wonka said it. After all, when your mother invites you to come to the kitchen, the greatest treat you are likely to get is a fingerful of cookie dough...goodness knows what the wonderous Mr. Wonka could give you! These were the very thoughts that were in Nicole's mind when she happily answered:

"Oh, Yes, that would be lovely!"

"All right." Wonka began to stand, but then turned and gave a small moue. "But you mustn't poke about, you understand. You follow me, and don't touch anything!"

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of it," Nicole assured him earnestly.

"All right, then. Up you get, young lady. Up! Good. On we go."

* * *

"Right this way, my duckling," Wonka instructed, turning to face his young guest as the two of them continued down the featureless hallway. He'd brought his cane with, and was twirling it jovially, whistling to himself a bit and taking a step back for every few steps forward, causing their progress to be rather stunted. Nicole had to walk a number of paces behind him just to keep from bumping into him every time he did that. "Don't dawdle, my dear, don't fall behind. Don't touch anything. Don't look about. Don't breathe too loudly. Don't make that face, you'll get stuck like that."

Nicole giggled quietly at Wonka's seemingly unconscious ranting. She doubted he was even aware of himself doing it.

The hallway abruptly became a labyrinth, catching Nicole completely by surprise. One second, it had appeared to stretch to infinity (and beyond!) in front of them, the next it curved sharply off to the left. And the right. And there was a ladder leading upward. Not to mention a hatch leading downward.

Nicole balked at this sudden oddity, but Wonka was unphased, confidently leading the way. First they went left, then right, right, left, forward, left, left, left, left, left...that soon caused Nicole to frown and point out that they were going in circles ("So we are! I suppose we'd better stop!"). Right, forward, left...Nicole soon lost track of which turns they'd taken, and walked a bit closer to her guide, fearing getting lost.

The walls were changing, now. They were slowly fading to transparency, or so Nicole thought. But after another couple of turns, she realised that they were, in fact, mirrors. Hundreds of them, from floor to ceiling, covering every bit of wall. Nicole watched as thousands of Willy Wonkas stopped twirling their canes to avoid destroying the walls. She looked on as thousands of Nicoles stared in wonderment about themselves. A quick appraisal of her physical appearance found her wanting, and in a fit of self-consciousness, she tried to attractively dishevel her hair so it wouldn't look quite so limp from the rain. She also wished she wouldn't look quite so round, from the sides, but no amount of fluffing or mussing would make her look thinner, so she didn't even try.

It was also beginning to get colder. Nicole pulled her sweater close around herself and shivered slightly. She paused for a moment, to watch herself in the mirror as she repeated the action. She smiled. She rather thought she looked like a sad, hungry kitten when she did that. Self-esteem slightly raised, she continued on at the heels of Mr. Wonka. Or she did so until she ran headlong into the mirror in front of her. The feet she'd been following so diligently disappeared in a flash of black.

"Oh!" Nicole cried suddenly, "Mr. Wonka! Wait!"

There was no response.

"Mr. Wonka!"

She was alone.

* * *

"Help! Mr. Wonka!"

Still nothing but the eerie echo of her own voice. Her breath caught in her throat as a sudden vice of fear gripped her heart. She reached out and steadied herself on a nearby mirror.

She was not against mirrors, by any means, except in the literal sense, at the moment. As a matter of fact, being a young girl, she was quite fond of them, or at least of attempting to perfect her reflection in them. She found them quite handy to have around. But to be surrounded by them, and to be alone was frightening and unnerving for her. It hadn't been so bad when Wonka had still been there. It was scary, to be sure, but his confidence had been a huge reassuring factor, and now it was gone, and Nicole was scared. To watch thousands of copies of herself shudder in unison, to be able to see the back of her own head as her light brown hair stuck out at odd angles as she moved...Terrifying. It was also giving her quite the headache.

So she did what any sensible person would do. She closed her eyes. As soon as she did, she felt instant relief. It seemed much easier to see, now. She chuckled a bit at the irony, and began to feel out her surroundings. Well, she had come from behind her, and there was wall in front of her. So she would have to take one of the forks. She chose left.

"Mr. Wonka! Please, I'm lost! Mr. Wonka!"

Nicole sighed and fretted. What had her father always told her about mazes? She knew it was something that had always struck her as a genius idea...he would mention it, sometimes, when the family would watch a mystery movie on the television (the only amount of tv that Nicole indulged in). Blast it, memory, what was that marvellous piece of advice?

Follow the wall, that was it! If she kept her hand on the left wall and followed it, always taking the left fork, then eventually she would have to end up somewhere...It might take some time, but it would work. Probably. In Wonka's factory, anything could happen.

"Mr. Wonka! Mr. Wonka!" she called out, eyes shut, groping along the wall as if she were playing a strange new version of Marco Polo. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no one else about to play, for all her calling went unanswered. She used her free hand to hold her sweater shut, for the cold was beginning to intensify, almost enough to make her teeth chatter.

She kept on, willing herself not to cry. It was all right. She would get out of here. After all, it was only a chocolate factory. Granted, a very strange and magical chocolate factory. A very strange and magical factory, that was potentially dangerous...But, no, Willy Wonka was an adult. And he wouldn't be so irresponsible as to let something happen to her. Adults were conscientious and caring, and he would find her soon...wouldn't he? Nicole had to admit that she was not at all sure. After all, she had intruded on his property, poked around in his personal belongings, pulled him from his work, drank his secret hot chocolate, and generally made a mess of things. Maybe he'd been so appalled by her greed in asking for a second mug of the steaming beverage that he'd decided to teach her a lesson, and was going to leave her in this terrible place forever! Perhaps she would freeze to death and he would make her into some sort of Nicole-flavoured sweet! Or an ice cream! Perhaps she would starve to death, her only company the thinning reflections of herself, stretching on into infinity...

At this point, Nicole was in hysterics, and though she fought them, tears still streamed down her round, pink cheeks like paratroopers into war. Her shoulders shook with shameful sobs, and she was just beginning to feel very, very sorry for herself when she heard a familiar voice.

"I say, my dear girl, didn't I tell you not to poke around?"

Nicole's weeping eyes shot open to behold a tall, thin, slightly eerie figure. The walls were back to normal, and Willy Wonka stood before her. He'd somehow gotten rid of the cane, and his hands, now sporting lavendar gloves, were resting reprimandingly on his bony hips. Nicole was so pleased to see him that she very nearly threw her arms around him and wept copiously into his chest.

"I'm sorry, sir," Nicole apologised, settling instead for wiping the tears away from her eyes and sniffing, "I got lost, I - "

"Oh, are those tears? My dear girl, don't worry so! Though, I suppose, yes, this labyrinth can be frightening to those who don't know how to navigate it. But don't fret, my pet. Goodness, that rhymed, didn't it? I say, I am a poet and I didn't mean to. Oh, no, that isn't at all how that goes, is it? I'm afraid I'm quite unsure. Come, come, my dear, we haven't all right. Well, actually, we do have all right, but certainly we don't want to be this chilly for the remainder of the _nacht_, do we? Come, now."

"Why _is_ it so cold, Mr. Wonka? Aren't we indoors?" Nicole asked, as she took up step again behind him.

"Well, I've always thought that hot chocolate tastes better if the rest of you is cold, don't you agree?"

"Oh. I suppose so, yes."

"Precisely. I should have thought it was obvious. You certainly have a strange way of looking at things, not to have noticed it. Very strange indeed, my dear girl."

* * *

They found themselves in Wonka's chambers not too long after that, having enjoyed their chocolate in the kitchen, watching the Oompas wrap up their projects and get ready for bed. Their conversations were quirky but pleasant, and Nicole found that Wonka was rather a fascinating person, if you could get past the eccentricities.

Nicole sat awkwardly at the foot of Wonka's bed, while he himself leaned majestically up against the deep mahogany headboard, taking a small break from his bizzare - but interesting - stories. Suddenly, he gave a start and began patting himself absently.

"Goodness, I'm beginning to be quite fatigued. Yes, very sleepy indeed. What time could it be?" Wonka reached into a pocket and extracted a gold pocketwatch on a chain. He flipped it open and took a gander at its open face. "Well, it could be nine-o'clock, or possibly four. Who knows, perhaps even half-past seven, if we're lucky! So many times it _could_ be, but I suppose I should ascertain what time it actually _is_, to be at all helpful. My goodness, me! Oh, dear, it's nearly midnight!" He gave Nicole a meaningful look.

She looked back, her eyes full of sad reluctance. She did not want to go, but she didn't wish to impose by asking to stay. This was not lost on her host. Wonka gave her a tiny Look, and then a small sigh, and after these little gifts had been given, he turned and opened a drawer in his nightstand. He pressed a small red button, and a screen descended from the ceiling. He turned a dial here, then flipped a switch there, and pressed a rainbow of buttons hither, thither, higgledy-piggledy and pell-mell. The smell of rain wafted into the room, diffusing the warm chocolate smell with its chill, refreshing moisture. Then, assaulting the assembled pairs of ears with its erratic tattoo, came the near-deafening sound of water sluicing out of the sky in sluices, draining down drains, and streaming down streams.

"Goodness me!" Wonka exclaimed, "It's raining cats and dogs!"

His finger automatically found the Oof button (he'd misspelled the sticker when labelling them) and pressed it. Just before the screen winked out, Nicole was sure she heard the shriek of an agitated feline, as though it had just fallen from a long way up. Wonka's eyes travelled to the young girl again, emotion unreadable running rampant through their blue depths.

"Your family will want to know where you are," he said, though he knew he was defeated before the battle had even begun.

"They might not even notice I'm gone," Nicole countered promptly, letting hope flood into her voice, "I have five brothers and sisters. And if they do, they won't fret. They know I always come back in the morning!"

Wonka made a small exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "Well, I couldn't send you home in this rain, anyway. You'd almost certainly get lost, and you've had enough soaking for one night. I suppose you can stay."

"Thank you, sir!" Nicole exclaimed, though she reined in her excitement a second too late, and now smiled embarrassedly, gingerly removing her impulsive little arms from Wonka's suddenly stiff and unwelcoming torso. He laughed nervously as she released him, and regained composure after a moment or two.

"Yes, well. I suppose I ought to show you to a room, then, shouldn't I?"

"Yes," Nicole conceeded, eyes automatically averring. She felt the weight from the bed beside her disappear, and then stood up, herself. She followed the chocolateer into the hallway, which was somehow deepest maroon in colour, and with beautifully carved decorative lamps fixated to the velvet-lined walls at intervals.

"Right this way, it's not too far," Wonka said, not seeming to notice the change, "I had some guest rooms installed, goodness knows why, but I've misplaced all but one of them. However, it's easy enough to find. It's right here, as a matter of fact...if it's a bit dusty, I apologise, I'm sure I've said I - Oh..."

He trailed off, and Nicole peered underneath his arm to have a look into the room. Or what was left of it. There was about a half-foot of floor beyond the doorway, before a sheer drop down into blackness. Wonka pinkened and shut the door. "Oh, yes. I forgot that it was the Unwelcome Guest Room," he gave a nervous little laugh, "In case I ever have in-laws, which doesn't seem likely. Er, perhaps this door over here would be more suitable..."

This door was rather plain-looking, with a faded golden handle. Wonka turned the handle and opened it up. Before Nicole could peer past him, however, he shut the door again quickly, the highest spots of his cheeks a remarkable crimson colour. He grinned nervously again, looking down at his guest, and spoke. "Er...you definitely don't want to go into that room. I really should actually just have it locked, I think. Forever. No matter...let's move on, shall we?"

He pulled open another nondescript door, and came face to face with the hugest, ugliest, most frightening fish that Nicole had ever seen. It's gargantuan mouth opened threateningly, showing mammoth, sharp, putrid teeth. Slime dripped grossly from each greenish tooth, floating away in the water which seemed to end, without the aid of glass, right at the doorway. It sauntered forward, insofar as a fish may saunter, preparing to gobble up Wonka and Nicole for a midnight snack. Wonka seemed frozen with horror as the fish's mouth widened ever further. Nicole screamed. Then, to Wonka's pained dismay, the fish let out a huge, deafening rendition of 'Climb Ev'ry Mountain', until it was cut short mid-"Raaaaaainbow!" by the door slamming shut. Wonka turned to Nicole and looked vaguely sickened, but managed a smile, anyway.

"The Singing Whommly," he whimpered, "Is that where I put him. How lovely."

"Are you all right, Mr. Wonka?" Nicole asked, solemnly.

"Yes, my dear," he replied weakly, stumbling down the hallway, "Perfectly fine. Just a little fish-breathed, is all. I shall recover in a moment."

* * *

Wonka decided that it was not worth the risk of checking more doors, and in any case, he didn't want to wake a couple of Oompa Loompas to stand guard over her. Nicole wasn't sure whether that would have been a precaution against her sneaking about the factory, or if it was to protect her, in case the Singing Whommly escaped and wished to sing her showtunes.

Nicole was to spend the night in Wonka's room.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor, of course," Wonka offered kindly, "Just find anywhere that looks nice to you and settle in, my dear."

Nicole immediately homed in on the high-backed chair on the south wall; maroon and black striped, with a couple of plush pillows on it. It looked comfortable enough, so she made her way to it and sat upon it.

Wonka had somehow disappeared in the second or two she'd not been watching him. She shook her head in wonder and tried to lay down on the chair. Unfortunately, it was not quite big enough for her to lie on it comfortably. She was curled up just a bit too much, and her neck hurt a lot when she tried to shift positions.

After a few more moments of fidgeting, Wonka reappeared in the doorway.

"If you need the bathroom, it's just through this door," he announced, indicating the room behind him, "You might wish to brush your teeth."

"Oh, yes, that would be good," Nicole replied, standing, eager to escape the unpleasant confines of the chair. She headed to the room behind Wonka, brushing past him slightly - he was so warm! - and looked into the room before her. "What toothbrush should I use?" she called out to Wonka.

"You mean you didn't bring your own?" Wonka answered, incredulously.

"Er...No, sir," she replied, and knew that it was pointless to say that she didn't anticipate needing one.

"I'm sure you didn't bring a towel, either, then."

"No, sir."

Wonka sighed audibly. "There is a tin of mints on the vanity. Eat one of those - just one, mind you! They're very strong - and that should do the job."

"But...it isn't my breath I'm concerned about, it's my teeth..."

"Yes, yes, of course, my dear. You don't think I would recommend you eat more candy before bedtime unless there was a good reason, do you? They're Cleaning Mints. They keep your teeth clean for hours after you eat them."

"Oh," Nicole said. She found herself saying that a lot in the presence of Wonka. It took a lot of effort and self-esteem to remember that Wonka had a strange way of thinking, and that she wasn't just a complete prat intellectually.

When she returned to the chair, the lights were out, and Wonka was making a pleasant sawing sound that indicated his unconsciousness. Nicole giggled slightly and settled herself onto her bed for the night. It was terribly uncomfortable to lie on. Nice enough for simply sitting, but just not conducive to sleep. Still, she was willing to try.

* * *

It was a little less than an hour later, and Nicole was still awake. Despite her valiant attempts at repose, she could not bring herself to fall asleep on the chair, despite the late hour. She just couldn't. She'd been battling with herself for some time now, weighing her options, deciding just how much she was willing to impose on Mr. Wonka. She supposed she could leave and go home - the rain must have abated, by now - but she still didn't know the way out of the factory, and anyway it was incredibly rude to leave in the middle of the night without so much as a good-bye. Eventually, she sighed quietly and stood up. She gingerly approached the foot of Wonka's bed, then inched forward until she was standing just in front of him. She leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"M-Mr. Wonka," she hissed in his ear. He flinched, slightly, and Nicole immediately withdrew.

"Mmmf? Zzznah? Wha? Who are you?"

Nicole paused. "Er...I'm Nicole Heltquist."

"How on earth did you get into my bedroom?"

"Um, you let me in."

"I did? Oh, I did...didn't I? Good heavens, me, I'm sorry, my dear. I'd forgotten you were here. Whatever can be the matter?"

Nicole tried not to be hurt or confused that he didn't remember her, after all that had happened, and instead answered him. "I'm so terribly, terribly sorry to bother you, sir, but...er...I can't sleep."

"Oh, my apologies. Is there...is there anything I can do to help?"

Nicole swallowed. She did not want to have to ask what she was about to, and she could tell that Wonka didn't want her to ask it, either. But her lips were moving before she could frighten herself out of it.

"Er...sir, would it be imposing to ask to share the bed? It's just...it's such a large bed, and the chair is so uncomfortable..."

Wonka seemed reluctant, as she knew he would be, and tapped one of his freakishly white teeth with a fingernail thoughtfully.

"Well..." he began, at length, "Do you hog the covers? Toss and turn? Snore? Talk in your sleep? Walk in your sleep? Kick in your sleep? Wet the bed? Have cold feet?"

"No, sir. Not that I know of, sir."

"Well, then go ahead and lie down," he instructed, and Nicole was happy to oblige, revelling in the soft satin sheets, in the warmth of the down comforter. "Just so you know," Wonka added, turning just his head to face Nicole, "I do all of those things. Occasionally at one time."

"Yes, sir." 


	4. The Mysterious Mr Wonka

_Note from your humble author: Thanks for reading, guys. The reviews and constant prodding really DO help me to update._

_This chapter is dedicated to Smeagol's Girl, who wouldn't let me rest until I posted this. ;D_

* * *

Nicole slipped out only a few hours later, before the sun rose. Wonka insisted that she leave while still under cover of darkness, and she was inclined to agree. Having completely, forgotten about her troubles at home, she crept back in through her bedroom window, crawled into her own bed, and slept for the remainder of the night.

* * *

When Nicole approached what her group of friends called their "Headquarters," an abandoned but patched-up old toolshed behind the playground in Acorn Park, she was worried. She hadn't brought anything from the factory, since she'd returned Wonka's favourite gloves, face red with shame. And no proof meant no credit for what she'd done.

Nicole did not have many friends. Nicole, to be truthful, did not have any _real_ friends at all. Her brothers and sister were friends, she supposed, but most of her brothers were too old to be interested in playing, and her younger sister was only eight. Desperately, she'd tried to make friends at school, but because she was rather quiet, doing this was hard.

So she'd decided to try and make her way into one of the groups of kids at school. As luck would have it, the one that she was currently approaching, was the first she'd run into that might possibly accept her as one of them. But as it was primarily male, it was as it is with most male-run 'clubs'; there was a ritual required to become a 'member'.

Nicole, she was well-aware, as she pushed open the squeaky wooden door, had failed that test.

The laughter inside died away as Nicole entered the uncommonly warm and stuffy shed. The tallest boy of the group, and the undisputed leader, was named Adam. He turned from his crowd to face Nicole, and gave her a challenging, superior smile. "Well, where's the proof?" he demanded. Nicole blanched at his blunt unkindness. She grimaced, but spoke with some confidence.

"I didn't bring any. But I did go! It was raining a lot, but I got in! I did, and I met Mr. Wonka! He was tall, and slightly mad, and - "

"What did he look like?" came a female voice from across the room. Angela, one of the only females in the group, was leaning forward on her makeshift couch of some old pillow stacked on top of empty milk crates. "Was he handsome?"

"I suppose, maybe," she said, with a shrug, "He was tall, and he had blue eyes like...like..."

"Shut up, Angie, she didn't even get in. You could have at least grabbed a candy bar or something if you had gone. It _is_ a chocolate factory, after all. Candy must just be lying around everywhere!"

"Well, that's not true at all! It's very clean there, and I didn't actually see any candy, though Mr. Wonka did give me some hot chocolate."

"Well, at least tell us how you got in."

"Oh, I can't tell you that," Nicole replied immediately.

"What? Why not?" the boy demanded in irritation.

"Mr. Wonka wouldn't like it if I - I mean, it's not...I mean, no one can know! I shouldn't even know!"

"Hah! Some proof that is. At least you could have come up with a better story, you liar."

"I'm not lying!" Nicole protested, her hands curling into fists, "I did go, and there was a maze made of mirrors, and everything in Wonka's office is cut in half, except it isn't really, it was just made that way, but it _looks_ cut in half, and - Why are you giving me that look? I'm not making this up! Why can't you just believe me?"

"Look, Nicole," Adam said, putting a hand on Nicole's shoulder with a condescending air, "How do you expect us to believe you if you don't bring us proof?"

"You don't need to see to believe..." Nicole mumbled, too low for Adam to hear, and shook her head. "Fine," she said, at last, "I'll go back tonight. I'll bring you proof. You see if I don't!"

"We _will_ see if you don't!" Adam called nastily after Nicole as she beat a hasty retreat.

asterisks

Nicole barely waited for the sun to set, this time, before she climbed the ancient oak and jumped over the wall, landing with a quiet thud on the grass. She headed toward the building the same way she remembered doing last night, but it had been raining at the time, and Nicole was not at all confident that she was going the right way.

It was beginning to get dark as she crept her way across the Wonka factory grounds, and ever-so quiet, except for the chirping of some crickets. However, as she was sneaking past the bushes, there suddenly came a rustle beside her. She jumped away from it, hoping desperately that there was no such thing as a Horrendous Hort or rabid Hobblerabbit. She stared into the foliage distrustfully, but it must have been the wind, because no further movement was seen, no further noise heard from the dark jungle of the hedges. Nicole hurried on rather quickly, nevertheless.

asterisks

The door was gone.

Nicole had reached the wall of the factory, and found it gone. She was certain there had been a door there, but now it was missing. Nothing but brick remained where there had been an entryway but last night. She felt along the brick, just in case she was mistaken, but it seemed to be solid enough. She sighed. She wasn't sure how else to get in.

Where could it have gone? It was a door, and doors do not just disappear. Except here, she reminded herself. This was all in a day's work for Willy Wonka. He probably wanted to make sure she didn't get in again. That thought caused a little twinge of hurt to tug at her heart, but she steeled herself and decided to try her luck anyway.

She walked along the wall, wondering if perhaps she'd just miscalculated the placing of the door. Perhaps it was further along than she remembered. It had been raining, after all... But no, there was the odd brick. Still...perhaps she'd been mistaken. She looked harder, but she didn't see any doors. The darkness was beginning to get heavier, making it even more difficult for Nicole to see where she was going. The few beacons of street lamps looked like will-o-the-wisps in the gathering fog, and she shivered to think about it.

There was a rustle in the nearby bushes again, and Nicole flinched and put her back against the wall, facing the bushes warily. Perhaps it was simply a regular rabbit, a normal, sweet little bunny...?

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered into the darkness, trembling greatly.

"Lying again, my dear girl? It really is bad for you, you know. Rots the teeth." The voice had come from behind her. Nicole issued a frightened squeak and turned to face Mr. Wonka. He was standing behind her, illuminated from the back by the brilliant light of the hallway, leaning nonchalantly on the doorhandle of a bright red door.

"Mr. Wonka," Nicole breathed, "I'm - I'm sorry, I - "

"Yes, yes, of course. Oh dear, it really is a bit cold out, is it not? Why not come inside, then? After all, there is a rather large and unpleasant creature in the bush just behind you. No, don't turn around. Come in, quickly, you understand. Ah! That's the ticket. No, oh goodness, my dear, it's all right. I was joking about the monster, really I was. Go on inside, then. Go on, shoo! Shoo!"

Wonka shot the Hobblerabbit in the bush a withering glare and shut the door behind him.

When the door had closed behind Nicole, Wonka spoke again. "You really are a most troublesome child, you know that? I daresay you'll like some more hot chocolate, and perhaps a small token to bring to your unbelieving friends, am I right?"

Nicole, shamed, nodded, but Wonka did not seem terribly displeased, and spoke with a smile barely hiding beneath a mask of sternness.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing for it. Bother, bother. And here I am with so much paperwork. Most troublesome indeed."

There was a pause.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day and stare at me like some sort of elk? I certainly am not going to put aside my affairs if we're just going to stand out in the hallway all this time. The door is just behind you, my dear, go on through it. Yes, splendid, superb, fantastic. Quickly, quickly now! Have a seat, just there, my dear, and I shall be with you in nary a moment. Don't touch anything!" he added quickly as he shut the door behind him.

Wonka leaned against the wall, recovering breath from his rapidly-spoken tirade.

She'd come back. Goodness gracious, she'd actually come back. She'd been able to. That was rather surprising, though, truthfully, Wonka had not gone to terribly great pains to guard his factory. He hadn't needed to - the walls were enough. True, the oak always had been a flaw in the plan. It had often occured to him that someone could use it to gain entry to the grounds, but it was so old, and such a majestic tree...Wonka had never had the heart to tear it down.

And after all, adults didn't climb trees, as a rule. And since it was adults he was discouraging from entering, he didn't worry quite so much. Children were fine. Granted, Nicole was not quite a child, but she was enough so that Wonka took a shining to her. Wonka loved kids. Some said that Wonka loved them a little too closely, but that was a simply disgusting thought, and Wonka's cheery disposition did not even allow it inside his head.

He'd made it easy for her, though. The door was not scheduled to be on that wall until late Thursday of the following week...but he'd known she would return. And he feared she would not even think to climb up the eaves and get in through the roof, so he'd had to move things around a little. But he was allowed. He was crazy, after all...

Grinning at that happy thought, he swung open the door to the room he'd banished Nicole to, and stepped in, pulling the door shut behind him.

asterisks

"Ah! I see you've discovered my private library. Yes, go on, do have a look. I do so encourage reading...unfortunately, it seems to have become quite unpopular, in favour of television. Such a shame, as children's vocabularies are not what they used to be. Do you read, Miss Heltquist?"

Nicole thumbed through the titles on the shelf absently, and turned to smile at Wonka. "Incessantly," she replied cheekily, and to her surprise, Wonka laughed. He looked for a moment as if he were going to reach out and tweak her nose, but he apparently contained himself. Nicole looked at the books again.

"Perhaps one of these books...I could use one of them as proof? For my friends, I mean."

"No, don't be silly, my dear girl, those books can be purchased at any bookstore!" Nicole held up a well-thumbed copy of The Schnizdonger of Ken, and Wonka blushed. "Well, almost. But the fact remains, they are not obviously belonging to me. I shall simply loan you my gloves. I believe you had the right idea when you picked them out the first time. But you must promise to return them!" Wonka insisted, waggling a lavendar-gloved finger at her. Nicole nodded solemnly.

"I promise, of course I do!"

"How do I know you aren't being sneaky and lying? Children are apt to do so, nowadays," Wonka said, pointedly, and Nicole's heart sank a little. She didn't blame Mr. Wonka for not trusting her, but she had to prove herself to him, somehow!

"I'm not! I _will_ bring them back! Er...I could leave my sweater as insurance?" she suggested, indicating the well-worn sweater. Wonka surveyed it. It was simple to tell from the easy, comfortable way the garment hung around Nicole's short and slightly plump frame that she wore it almost all the time. It had a very lived-in feel to it. She would regret its absence. Wonka nodded; it would do.

"Yes, I believe that will be fine," he agreed, and handed Nicole the gloves. She accepted them with a sort of reverence, as if she were receiving communion, and tucked them into the large front pocket on her dress. She looked at the sleeves of her sweater as if saying goodbye to them, and then pulled the black knit article from either arm and held it out to Wonka with half a smile.

"You'll take care of them, won't you?" Wonka asked, taking the sweater from his young guest, "I would so hate to see anything happen to them. My father gave them to me, you know."

"Your father?" Nicole echoed. Somehow it hadn't occured to her that Wonka might have parents. But naturally he must have. Perhaps he'd even inherited the factory from his father; that was quite common these days. Nicole smiled at the sudden mental image of Wonka as a child, grinning brightly and unnerving all of his classmates. Little did she know how accurate that image was.

"Why are you smiling?" Wonka asked, as he began to head into toward one of the few exits.

"What? Oh, nothing," Nicole replied, putting the image away for further perusal and amuse-al, and followed Wonka obediently.

"Well, here we are again," Wonka announced as they stepped into his office, "I really must do a bit of finishing up, however. So if you'd care to take a seat, I shall be with you momentarily." Wonka walked over to a filing cabinet (or, half of one), and began shuffling the contents around.

"Pardon me," Nicole interrupted suddenly, "But does any of this...have another half, somewhere?"

"Ah, inquisitiveness! Too many people ask the wrong questions, yes...all together too many. But you seem to have a knack," at this Wonka snapped his fingers for emphasis (which caused a rather embarrassing _faux pas_ when an Oompa Loompa suddenly appeared. Wonka had the grace to look ashamed and sent it away), "Where was I? Oh yes, a knack - without the snapping - for choosing the right ones.

"The answer is, of course they do. Everything has another half. Everything, everyone; there is absolutely nothing in the world without another half. Hence marriage. Children. You can't have children by yourself, can you?"

"Er...no."

"I should certainly hope not! Because you aren't meant to! You're not yet whole! You must find your other half first, before you can even hope to make another half. If you tried to do it yourself, you'd end up with only a fourth, and that would be terrible. A fourth? It would have to marry three other fourths - or one fourth and one half, I love fractions - to be complete, and bigamy is illegal.

"So naturally all of this has another half. I do have another office, on the other side of the factory. It depends on whether or not I'm feeling in my right mind or not. You'll notice that most everything in here is the left side. It's where I feel most comfortable. I'm not often in my right mind, at all."

"You've got that right, or perhaps left..." Nicole mumbled under her breath, with half a smile (the left half) on her face.

"Now. Filing. Yes. Here, hold these," Wonka shoved a pile of papers into Nicole's hands, spun about and took them again. Then he bustled over to the desk, made a bunch of markings in large, loopy handwriting, and began to shuffle the papers again. However, usually when someone says "shuffle papers," it is to indicate a general rifling, thumbing, or browsing of the papers. In this context, however, "shuffling" is to be used in the sense of one shuffling a deck of cards, to make sure they are properly interspered amongst each other. One does not normally accomplish this with plain paper, but Wonka was doing it now with deceptive ease, now folding them until they shunted together, then pulling them apart and pushing them back together like a magician.

In a moment he bored of this and replaced them carefully in the file cabinet.

"There," he stated, "That's done."

asterisks

Nicole took a sip of hot chocolate and smiled at the man sitting in the high-backed arm chair beside her. Wonka was relaxed, his feet resting on the plush contours of a footrest shaped like a small purple elephant. He was sipping his cocoa with a mildly benevolent air of a kindly king who has just finished a great meal. Nicole couldn't help but smile at him.

"Mr. Wonka, may I ask you a question?"

"Well, considering that you just have, I suppose so. I shall even allow you to ask me a second," he answered, smirking.

"Why, thank you. I was just wondering...the tinker with the brushes outside the factory...he always says that no one comes in, and no one goes out. He warns away curious children. Does he work for you, as a kind of discouragement?"

Wonka seemed surprised. "Er...No, though perhaps he ought. Maybe I shall send someone out to speak to him. I _would_ hate for someone to help me so without my gratitude. Somehow I've never seen him on our cameras. Peculiar."

"Another question?"

"Yes, my dear, go ahead," Wonka said, waving a hand airily, seemingly still lost in thought about the tinker.

"Why don't you want anyone to come in? I mean, I can understand you not wanting the Oompa Loompas to leave - they could get hurt out there. But surely there's no harm in visitors, is there?"

Wonka shifted in his seat so that he was sitting more straight up, and sighed. "Alas, my dear, that is not the case. Would that it were...it does get terribly lonely sometimes. But I'm afraid it's really not possible. You see, I used to employ humans to work here. I loved having them, and I realised how important it was for them to have jobs - many were supporting their families on my pay, and there were many openings I had for employment. But sadly, a couple of bad eggs spoiled it for everyone. The other chocolate companies sent in spies, acting as workers, and soon many of my original recipes and inventions were being mass-produced (and at much lower quality, might I add) and sold to the public for cheaper. Soon it was getting to be that every other day, another one would steal something valuable to me.

"I couldn't let it go on, of course I couldn't, so I merely had to lay everyone off. I felt terrible doing it, and even worse for closing down the factory, but it had to be done. As a result of course, I ended up in the midst of many adventures, filled with wacky mishaps and Missy Whackhaps (you remember the amorous boar I mentioned previously?), which I shall not relate to you now, except in short to say that it landed me in Loompaland."

"May I assume that you found your current staff there?" Nicole hazarded. Wonka nodded kindly.

"Indeed you may, my dear. A sharp one, you are. Sharp as a thumbtack! Perhaps I ought to press you into a wall." It occured to Wonka too late that he'd taken his metaphor too far. There was a moment of awkward silence as both of the people present turned an attractive crimson colour, and then Wonka cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. So now I employ the Oompa Loompas. And more hardworking, dedicated, honest workers you could not hope to find."

"No, of course not," Nicole added hurriedly, "They seem quite...er...yes. Good."

Another pause.

"So you don't ever see anyone at all?" Nicole persisted, intent on breaking the horrible silence.

"No, I am afraid not."

"Well, that doesn't sound like much fun..." Nicole stated, her voice trailing off near the end. That sounded rather rude, now that she'd said it out loud, and she hoped Wonka wouldn't be offended.

"Well, it works well enough for me. At least I can do my business in peace."

"But...being so reclusive - "

"Reclusive? My, yes. reclusive, elusive, exclusive, and occasionally even a little intrusive, if you catch my meaning. I hope you don't, however, as it's quite contagious and I can't have everyone getting sick on my account. But really, if people kept stealing from you, wouldn't you be reclusive?"

"I...suppose I would be," Nicole answered, after a while. Again there was a pregnant silence. That silence then gave birth to a number of baby silences, who happily grew up and bounded off to seek their fortunes in the world. "Does that include me?"

"Well, I suppose that would depend. Are you stealing from me?" Wonka asked, his eyes suddenly alight.

"No," Nicole replied honestly.

"Well, then. I suppose it doesn't."

Nicole beamed, and Wonka's grin seemed a little too sheepish, his chuckle a little too nervous. One of the pregnant silence's offspring found a lovely little niche to settle into at this point, and made its presence known. It was broken, sadly, by Wonka's slightly strained voice.

"Look at the time!" he cried, though he did not appear to be looking at a watch, and there were no clocks on the walls, "It's so terribly late. You really must be going, I need some sleep to time. Wait. Strike that, reverse it. Yes. I shall walk you to the door, my dear, it's just this way."

"Oh, no, Mr. Wonka!" Nicole cried, as he reached to take her arm and remove her from her easy-chair. "I haven't finished my chocolate!"

"Oh. Yes. Of course. That. Well, do hurry?" Wonka asked, hovering over her. Nicole gave him a look of sad reluctance.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka," she began, her heart racing, "I know it's terribly rude of me...but I wish I didn't have to go."

Wonka's face froze into a smile. Or at least, his mouth was open and his teeth were showing. He gave a bit of a forced chuckle. He knew where this was going. He also knew that he lacked the willpower to make her leave against her will. Much to his chagrin, he _wanted_ her to stay, though it was a strange and selfish thought, considering that he'd known her for barely a day.

"Could I...perhaps...stay again?" she asked, her voice the picture of embarrassed terror, and when he looked at her, he knew he'd lost.

Wonka sighed. "I suppose. But mind you, I don't want this to get out. If people thought I was giving free quarter to anyone who could sneak past my Hobblerabbits, I'd soon have to stop making chocolate and become a hotel! And that, my dear, is something that no one needs to have happen."

"You mean, I can't tell anyone?"

"Not a soul, dear girl!" Wonka insisted with sincerity, "No one must know."

"Not even if I make it sound very dangerous?" she asked with a sly grin, "If it seems as if I was barely able to escape with my life and limbs in tact? I could tell them all the horrible obstacles I had to overcome! Rabid Hobblerabbits! Terrible, wicked Whangdoodles! Bogglebanges and guzzlefish and Snogglewhompers!"

"Now, I say, how would you know about Snogglewhompers?"

"You mean I didn't just make them up?"

"Certainly not!"

"Oh." 


	5. Mr Wonka's Nerves

Gah...sorry this took so long. I'm not really happy with this chapter at all, my muse has been completely useless lately unless it has to do with Phantom of the Opera. So I do apologise for any errors, grammatical, spelling, or Mary-sue, and I humbly submit to any and all helpful suggestions. weeps at lack of own talent, lately

* * *

Nicole attempted to arrange the covers around her in a comfortable manner, fidgeting slightly as she tried to untangle her legs. Her efforts, however, seemed to be in vain, and when she glanced over at her host, Wonka was giggling mercurially. She pouted slightly and protested, "They're grabbing me!"

"Yes," he said, his eyes lighting up like strange blue lamps,"They will do that. I designed them that way, do you like them?"

Eventually Nicole managed to beat the unruly bedclothes into submission, and they snuggled into her legs affectionately. "Well, they are rather frustrating..."

At this, Wonka frowned, his eyes extinguishing themselves as quickly as they had lit, "I see. I don't move a whit in my sleep, but I always enjoy untangling myself in the morning, so I invented these self-wrapping bed covers...I suppose I didn't realise that it wasn't a universal pleasure."

Nicole found herself infinitely sorry that she had said anything, and she offered up a sad smile as a sacrifice. "It's lovely, Mr. Wonka," she said, sincerely, and at this her host smiled most charmingly, bringing her heart back up from her stomach like a thoughtful winch.

The night passed without much event. Nicole found that she felt terribly cheeky, having asked to stay the night again, and she wondered perhaps if she'd overstepped her boundaries. But he had allowed it, so she wouldn't complain. Not that she would, in any case. She found that she really did enjoy spending her nights in Wonka's cushy bed, with a warm, masculine form just next to her. He was almost fatherly, except that Nicole all ready had a father, and did not need another.

Her cheeks tinted pink whenever she thought of exactly what was happening. She was in bed with a man, a grown man! It seemed so scandalous, when in reality, it could not have been more innocent. She chuckled slightly, almost inaudibly, and pressed her face into the pillow with glee. Her small hands had entwined around the satiny edging on Wonka's blanket, and the pillow smelled of milk chocolate and hazelnut, lulling her to sleep with its sugary soft lullaby.

The young girl was sleeping, now. He could tell because of the pattern of her breaths. He hadn't been intending to, but he'd been subconsciously monitoring them, for lack of anything better to do. Wakefulness would not allow his eyes to shut and his brain to turn off. Wonka was used to being unable to sleep, but usually because of inspiration. But he wasn't inspired, now...just restless. He rolled over, taking great pains not to move Nicole, and faced her. She was lying the opposite way, with her back to him, and her torso contracted and expanded with every sweet breath she drew.

Wonka had never had children of his own. He had never married. As a matter of fact, he hadn't had so much as a girlfriend since University. He'd become a sort of father to many children over the years, albeit a distant and eccentric one...and now he had the opportunity to be one up-close (though admittedly still eccentric), but he wasn't sure paternal was how he felt toward the slightly chubby girl snoring lightly in his bed. Friendly, more like. He did not really see Nicole as a child, but more of an equal, merely a good friend. Granted, she was childlike in many respects, and it was because of this that he allowed her to spend the night in his bed. Where as with a grown woman, it was simply not done; but Nicole was still young enough to be a child for this reason. She seemed to be becoming the exception to every rule, and much to Wonka's amazement, she did not seem to be trying to do so. She would be less likeable if she had.

He very slowly reached out, and patted Nicole's head lightly. She cooed, and Wonka smiled to himself. He closed his eyes and, wondering what on earth sugar plums were and how he could make them dance, eventually persuaded sleep to visit him.

* * *

Nicole awoke to a small, concerned face. An Oompa Loompa. It smiled at her as it saw her awaken, and bade her to rise. It was time for her to leave. She turned as she stood, and looked at the prostrate form of William Wonka, still sleeping, on the bed. His head was half-off the pillow, and the blankets were hopelessly tangled about his legs, smug in the puzzle they would present to their owner in the morning.

"Miss Nicole, hurry up, the sun is almost up!"

Nicole snapped out of her reverie, and smiled at the Oompa. "Oh, I'm sorry. Thank Mr. Wonka for me when he wakes, please?"

"Of course. Shall I tell him you'll be back tomorrow?"

"You may tell him - Oh, where is my other shoe? Oh, thank you - You may tell him that - oof! - Er...what was the question again?"

"Shall you be back tomorrow?"

"Oh. Er, yes, if he likes," Nicole replied, not entirely awake yet. If she'd been entirely awake, she might have caught the strange look in the factory worker's eye, the keen smile on his face.

"Then we shall expect you."

* * *

Nicole was having a hard time focusing on her schoolwork. Maths numbers swam in front of her eyes, their numeric monotony melting under her gaze into darkest chocolate, swirling and tempting, liquid potential just begging to be tasted...Nicole reached out a greedy finger to catch some up...

"Miss Heltquist?"

Nicole's head jerked up to look at the face of her maths instructor, who was wearing a most peculiar expression. She blanched timidly and shook her head, mouth opened in horror. "I don't know the answer, I'm sorry!"

"No, no...nevermind the apology. What was that about Wonka chocolates?"

Nicole's eyes widened to match those of her classmates, all trained on her. She felt a blush beginning deep in her stomach, then spreading out across her skin, a burning pink that claimed her face. She'd been talking in her sleep? What had she said?

"N-nothing...I'm sorry. I'm very fond of chocolate..." She mumbled.

"Yeah, that's obvious, fatso," one unkind boy a few seats away whispered, though not quietly enough that Nicole could not hear him. Her blush strengthened.

"No...no...you said something about getting into the factory. What was that about a...a whatsit...a hobbling rabbit?" Her teacher's eager and credulous eyes bored into her.

"I don't know...I expect I was dreaming. I don't remember saying anything!" she protested and finally her professor subsided into obvious disappointment, and reprimanded her for falling asleep in class and getting everyone's hopes up. Nicole vowed never to do it again, and, unlike most children who fall asleep in class, reallymeant it.

* * *

Wonka was having a hard time focusing on his book. It wasn't that it wasn't interesting, but...he was just distracted. He wondered if she was on her way, now. The sun had gone down about half an hour (possibly less, Wonka was impatient) ago. Surely she should be here by now, shouldn't she? She should be here!

He needed his gloves back. He had spares, of course...but those had been his father's. And, well, all right, he didn't get on with his father, but it was the principle of the thing. They were his gloves, and he wanted them back. Yes, that was certainly what he was impatient about. He definitely wanted those gloves. Definitely.

Wonka bookmarked his page (he would never do anything so heinous as to dog-ear one of his beloved tomes) and set the book on the bed beside him. He shook his head and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine. Why wasn't she here? He needed the gloves! Wonka began to fret, rubbing his gloveless hands together wretchedly.

Now, why had he given her the gloves in the first place? Certainly it wasn't at all required. He didn't care if her friends knew that she'd gotten in. No, not even if she wanted to impress them. After all, why would he want anyone to know that his factory was less than impregnable? Just because she seemed so nice...and he knew she wanted very much to prove that to her friends...And why _should_ he care about how she felt? _She_ had trespassed onto _his_ property, and imposed upon _him_ for lodging and hot chocolate and _company_ two nights in a row, and...

And yet, Wonka didn't seem to mind. He hadn't been lying when he'd said it got lonely. And she seemed to be nice enough, honest by nature. It also may have had something to do with the fact that while he could sometimes be slightly grumpy and occasionally downright ornery when his temper flared, he was a generous soul at heart. And, of course, his soft spot for charming, well-read children (so few about these days, sigh...) contributed.

_And_, a small, smug part of him piped up, _Now you know she'll come back tonight..._

Wonka shook his head. He hadn't meant to think that.

_And in the meantime, you've got her sweater._

At this, Wonka actually recoiled in offense to his own mind. Surely this was all nonsense! Wonka had always prided himself on his visible lack of what was generally considered sanity, but this was getting ridiculous. He couldn't possibly have just thought that. She was just a child, for heaven's sake!

Wonka chided himself thoroughly and looked back at the small, innocuous black sweater sitting beside him on the bed. It seemed to be watching him. He turned his gaze from it, but he still knew it was there. _It's probably still warm,_ he thought to himself, against his will. _It probably smells like her._

He glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, as if it might move on its own. Honestly, Wonka didn't trust it not to. Perhaps it was putting these strange thoughts in his head...

At that, even Wonka had to admit that he was going a bit far. It was a sweater. Wonka knew magic when he saw it, and the only magic that sweater held was to keep a particularly nice young girl warm in the cold weather. He reached out and petted it, slightly. It was obscenely soft, and he couldn't stop himself stroking the fabric lovingly between his fingers. Wonka was a sensual person...Hmm, no, perhaps it would be better stated to call him "sensory." He loved the feel of soft or smooth things, hence his incurable attraction to velvet, silk and satin.

He loathed lace.

The cotton blend of the fabric called out to some deep part of him and his hands, unbidden, brought the cloth to rub against his cheek. Despite himself, he gave a little sigh and smiled. It was so terribly soft, and it did smell nice...

Suddenly Wonka felt like a pervert. He opened his drawer hurriedly to shove it inside, but realised too late that he'd grabbed the wrong drawer. The terrible din started for the second time in two days, and he screamed in startlement before slamming it shut, throwing the sweater across the room, and violently tossing himself onto his bed and covering his head with a pillow.

He panted for a moment and allowed his nerves to smooth themselves out before emerging into the light of the lamp again. About twelve Oompa Loompas were standing around his bed in a neat half-circle, looking at Wonka with concern. He let out another cry of surprise and twitched, slightly, but relaxed almost immediately afterwards. One of his workers stepped forward wordlessly and handed Wonka a cup of hot tea. He took it, sipped it, and sighed. They always knew.

"Thank you, Nobby," Wonka said with a smile, "My nerves were getting the better of me."

"You had ought to stop working so hard, Mr. Wonka."

"Hmm," said Wonka,swallowing a mouthful of tea, "Perhaps so. Do not let me detain you."

As he waved his hand in a kind dismissal, it was almost magical the way the Oompas disappeared. Wonka smiled slightly, and leaned back onto his cushions. He turned to look beside him for his book, but saw that in its place was Nicole's sweater.

The china Wonka held clattered together, and a bit of tea fell into his lap. How had that gotten there...? Obviously one of the Oompas had retrieved it and put it back on the bed, while he was under the pillow. That must have been it. Obviously the sweater couldn't have gotten there by itself! Was he going mad?

"Oh well," he sighed, nudging the sweater away slightly, "At least I'm not talking to myself."

The irony of that statement sunk in. _Perhaps I really_ am _crazy..._ Wonka thought, deliberately internally. Then:

_Oh goodness,_ Wonka realised with a shock, _I'm thinking like an adult._

Wonka took a long draught of tea. He needed it.

* * *

When the soft knock-knock at the door finally came, nearly a half-hour later, Wonka's nerves were just about frayed through. He sprung up and flew to the door, opening it with a genuine smile and a bob of his head. 

"Good evening, Miss - oh, my...My dear, whatever can be the matter?" Wonka's demeanor instantly changed, and he put a reassuring hand on the sniffling Nicole's shoulder.

Nicole did not reply, only looked down at the floor in dejection and shame. Even as Wonka's comforting touch massaged her shoulder, she could not bear to look at him. She wasn't sure how she'd even managed to make it all the way to the factory. She probably wouldn't have, surrendering her sweater to him, if she hadn't told the Oompa specifically that she would return.

"My dear, why are you crying?" A hand found Nicole's chin, and tilted her face upwards. Wonka's face hovered far above hers, concerned and framed with dark brown hair that it would be redundant to describe as chocolate. Her tears obscured his face rather a lot, but it didn't soften the blow his two brightly blue eyes gave Nicole. She turned away and shamefully reached into the pocket of her dress.

When her hand returned, it contained a single lavendar glove, marked with the letter 'W'. And only the one.She held it out to Wonka, who took it, gingerly, and inspected it rather like a birthday boy would inspect a deflated balloon. His face creased itself into a look of reluctant disappointment. She knew he was upset, and didn't want to be. He wanted to think highly of her, at least as much as she wanted him to, and somehow that was worse than when she thought he would shout at her.

"Oh," he said, at length, and this single syllable sent an alphabet of tears rushing down Nicole's sorrowful face.

"I don't know what happened, Mr. Wonka!" she cried, "I had them both, I did, and I kept checking to make sure that they were both there, but just an hour ago...I'm so sorry!"

* * *

His gloves! His favourite pair! How could he have been so stupid? Wonka was a trusting soul, by nature, though he had often learned, the hard way, that trusting souls often meet misfortune. But he'd really believed that Nicole would be responsible...would take care of these gloves the way they deserved... He was hurt, and angry, and to top it all off, now hisright hand would be cold, too. 

Wonka held the glove like a baby bird who had fallen out of its nest, and looked at the tearful young lady before him. He wanted to comfort Nicole, but hadn't he specifically told her...?

Something inside Wonka slapped him. _They're gloves! Fabricated objects! Nicole is a living, breathing, feeling being, and she is hurting. Isn't that more important than gloves? Yes, even more important than your favourite gloves. You have more pairs, after all!_

The glove was suddenly on the nightstand, unattended, and Nicole's tear-stained face was buried in the plush contours of Wonka's dressing gown. His hands rubbed her back gently, assuringly

"Hush, my darling, there, there. No need to cry. I have more gloves," he soothed.

"B-but those were your favourites! Your father gave them to you!" Nicole wailed.

"Shhh, shh...It's of no consequence. I don't get on with my father, anyway. Do stop crying. Here, I'll send for some hot chocolate."


	6. The Glass Elevator

**Okay, time for a few announcements:** I have edited the first five chapters of this fic **HEAVILY**. I have removed scenes, and added scenes. I have spell-checked and grammar-checks to the nth degree. I have tweaked, pinched, prodded, and fleshed out a significant amount of everything, and it is my firm recommendation that if you think you can stand to **read this story over again**, that you do so. You won't be disappointed. 

As with the last chapter, I am not amazingly satisfied with most of this, and it may get edited. But then, it may not. It all depends. I still welcome any and all criticisms. Oh, and this chapter does have a naughty word for donkey in it. But if Peter Pan can do it, so can I!

Also, **I have received numerous comments regarding Nicole/Wonka romance.** While I was originally intending for such a thing to occur, I'm now not certain that I want it to. I do have a fair amount of fic written, regarding that aspect of their relationship, but it is not all innocent, and I fear that it rather detracts from the niceness of the story. I know that some of you have mentioned that it's all right, as long as it's tasteful, and I assure you, my darlings, that while I am a completely tasteless ass in and of myself, my Wonka muse is a noble man, and would not submit to smut. Unless I made him. Which I won't.

So, since you are the most important part of the story, dear readers, I humbly request your opinion. If the general concensus is a no, then I shall simply post the rest as alternate scenes. **So please, let me know your thoughts, either in review, or email.**

On with the show.

**- **

Wonka and Nicole drank their hot chocolate in silence...there didn't seem to be anything to say. Wonka had professed to have forgiven Nicole, and she professed to believe him...but neither was truly sure of their statement. Wonka had placed his remaining glove on the nightstand gently, tenderly, and then placed a book over it, so that he wouldn't have to look at it.

Time passed, and the melancholy hanging in the air suffused both present, making them both wish that the other would say something - anything. The cocoa in their cups drained in synchronisation, each lifting the cup to their lips slowly and drinking, at the same time, though both were too caught up in their various upsets to notice this strange ritual.

Finally, the spell was broken when Nicole lowered the cocoa into her lap and turned her head. "If...if you'd like...you can...you can...cut my sweater in half," she sobbed, and only now did it become apparent that her tears had continued throughout.

Wonka's chocolate followed the same fate, sitting forgotten in his lap, while a strange and unpleasant tickling was felt in his nose. His throat felt as if he'd swallowed his whole cup of cocoa at once, and he felt his bottom lip begin to wibble. It was a somewhat alien feeling to him, but the aching in his chest wouldn't allow him to ignore it. A single tear, completely crystalline, slid down his cheek, and Nicole gasped slightly to see it.

She set her mug quickly down on the nightstand and leaned forward to her benefactor slowly, in case he would ask her not to touch him. She reached forward with a little rounded finger and brushed the tear gently away, sticking her finger in her mouth absently, as she tended to do with her own tears. To her mild surprise, it was bittersweet, not salty...but what else could be expected from Mr. Wonka? His eyes were threatening more, and she closed the gap between them with a sorrowful hug.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Wonka...I never meant to disappoint you! If I save my pocketmoney, maybe I could buy you a new...oh, but it isn't the same! I'm sorry!" she shook as she held him, and this time his arms around her were not comforting, but seeking comfort. It seemed Wonka was as distraught as she was.

But their sad, tender moment was not to last. A pleasant tinkling noise was heard, and Wonka's head raised up reluctantly.

"Oh, the phone..." he murmured, miserably, and opened his nightstand drawer to press one of his many buttons. The screen with which Nicole was vaguely familiar descended from the ceiling, pushing aside a pair of underwear, three and a half socks, and two old shopping bags to do so. An Oompa Loompa's concerned face appeared on its flickering countenance, and addressed the two soppy sadlings.

"Mr. Wonka, there's a problem in Marshmallowing. One of the mini-machines has split in two...what should we do?"

"Oh, I see," Wonka sniffed, and procured a handkerchief from his breast pocket before blowing his nose noisily into it. The Oompa politely ignored this breach of etiquette, and waited for his master's response. "Well...take it to my office," he continued, at length, "I'll have a look at it tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." And the screen discreetly retreated into its ceiling-hatch, thoughtfully replacing the socks, underwear, and shopping bags where they had been to begin with. But Nicole didn't notice them. She was too busy staring at the door to Wonka's office.

"Mr. Wonka," she began, distractedly, "Perhaps you should go look at it tonight..."

"No, my dear girl...it's far too late for working, and I admit I don't feel up to - "

"You said there was another half to your office?" Nicole interrupted, quite rudely, indeed. But Wonka did not seem to mind, though he stared at her rather strangely.

"Yes, of course there is, my pet...what of it?"

Nicole bit her lip and smiled, wiping the tears from her face absently with a sleeve, "I don't know if I want to tell you until I think it will work. May I have the glove again?"

Wonka bit back any negative comment he may have been planning on unleashing, and nodded silently. Having lived his entire life being possessed by a sudden, crazy inspiration, and having been balked constantly by friends and family members who didn't understand and insisted upon asking useless questions, he knew that the best thing to do would be to let Nicole have her head. She snatched up the glove and disappeared into his office.

He opened his mouth and made a small noise of protestation, but Nicole reappeared immediately and dashed forward, grabbing Wonka's hand procaciously. It sent a little happy shock through Wonka's confusion and sadness, and he felt Nicole's smile encouraging one of Wonka's own, twitching at the sides of his perfect mouth.

"Is the other half of your office far?" she asked, tugging gently but endearingly on Wonka's strangely bare hand. He rarely removed his gloves, for purposes of sanitation, but he knew Nicole to be a cleanly little girl, and his sensitive skin welcomed the touch of her four little fingers and her thoughtful little thumb.

"Yes...on the other half of the factory. It would take hours to walk..."

Nicole's face fell. "Oh. I see." She released her grip on Wonka's hand, to his vague disappointment, and cast her eyes to the floor. "Perhaps I should just go by myself...you could get some sleep..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Wonka stated suddenly, arching his back like an affronted peacock and frowning, "Not only would you get terribly lost, but I also have a much better, and faster way, of getting there..."

* * *

Nicole had, for some reason, expected a sedan chair, toted by Oompa Loompas. But she chided herself on her foolishness, for obviously an elevator made more sense. All the candy must have been affecting her normally keen little mind. Wonka gestured for her to get inside, first, and followed, tying his velvet dressing robe more firmly about himself. He looked vaguely across the inside of the compartment, staring in earnest at all the little buttons covering every surface. Nicole was rather awed and somewhat amused by many of the names: The Shearing Room, Perfumed Octopi, Little Things, Bigger Things, Quite Large Things Indeed, The Solid Room, Marshmallowing, The Room For Little Baby Oompa Loompas, That One Room, The Room of Requirement, The Chocolate Dungeon, The Overt Se - 

"Ah-hah!" Wonka cried, and pressed a neat half-button labelled simply "Right." There was no response for a moment, and Nicole wondered if perhaps the elevator was out of order, but then Wonka turned and smiled at her and said, "Perhaps you'd like to hold my hand again. This could be a bit turbulent."

Nicole's heart skipped a small beat, though she was not sure why...perhaps it was apprehension at the upcoming ride. But nonetheless, she slipped her comparatively stubby hand into Wonka's elegant, smooth one, and not a moment too soon. The elevator suddenly lurched hugely to the right, and Nicole swung around Mr. Wonka like a ball on a tether, just barely missing cracking her head on the thick glass walls. If she'd hesitated a single moment to take Wonka's hand, she could have done herself an injury.

The elevator swung to the left and right, from forward to back, and also up and down; with each jerk sending Nicole into a different direction, until Mr. Wonka, who seemed to be completely immune to the movement, was forced to wrap his arms around her shoulders to keep her from zooming about like an overactive canary. Once he did, Nicole's eyes eventually managed to open, and her stomach began to settle. Wonka stood like a pillar in a storm against the constantly changing force of gravity; indeed, when once they swung upside down, not a single hair on Wonka's head changed positions, his hat remainingly primly atop him as if it had no idea what was going on. But though Nicole's hair did not posess the same will-power, and she was forced to clasp her skirt rather tightly to keep from being exposed - this was a _glass_ elevator, after all - she found the journey rather enjoyable.

"I realise," Wonka said, patiently brushing Nicole's hair away from his mouth as they flipped once again, "That this is rather uncomfortable if you don't have a knack for Standing Still, but I assure you it's faster than anything else. Do you know...I used to have a sedan chair, but the Oompa Loompas who carried it always complained so bitterly that they didn't get to ride inside of it...often times I found myself breaking down and carrying it for them; the children are so sweet when they laugh."

* * *

Eventually, the ride was over, and Nicole let her skirt go free, and attempted to pat her hair back into place. Wonka smilingly conjured her a hairbrush that was bright pink and slightly transparent. It was redolant in the smell of strawberries and looked positively delicious, with little chocolate-coloured bristles, and thin licourice laid into the handle like filigree. Nicole smiled and ran it through her hair a few times, and then, most impudently, licked the back of it. It tasted like plastic and hair laquer. 

"My dear, why ever did you do that?" Wonka asked, retrieving the brush from a Nicole who was pulling a face because of the unpleasant flavour. He wiped it off anxiously on his handkerchief before the both objects disappeared somewhere in Wonka's robe. "That was my hairbrush, I doubt it would be very tasty..."

"Er...nevermind," Nicole said, blushing bright red and trying not to laugh. "Where is your office?"

"Oh, just about halfway down this hallway," Wonka replied, with no hint that he even remembered the events of the past half a minute. He smiled, and led Nicole to a most promising-looking door. He pulled a keyring from the depths of his robe pocket, and sorted through about half of the present keys until he found one that seemed to be quite broken, completely bisected. He inserted it partway into the lock and turned it three-sixths to the right. The door came open, and he half-turned to Nicole and let the two of them inside.

In the room was, indeed, the right half of everything in Wonka's office that Nicole had come to know. There was the western hemisphere of his globe ("Do you know, Nicole, I almost didn't buy that until I realised it was half-priced!"), there was the other half of his safe, the other half of his chair, his desk, his diploma ("-Onka, -Angdoodle, "-Iggle")...and there, just what Nicole had been looking for. She rushed forward and grasped the handle, pulling the door open with a great mixture of happiness and apprehension...

She squealed delightedly, and snatched up a small object lying in the bottom of the cupboard, "Oh my goodness, Mr. Wonka, it worked! Look, look!" She practically flew up to Wonka's bemused form, waving a purple, shiny, fingered flag. Wonka's jaw dropped, and he snatched the glove from her in disbelief.

"My glove! The very one! Look, there's even the chocolate stain on it, from when I - " he caught Nicole's innocent young expression, and a discomfitted grin spread across his face, "Er, nevermind. My dear girl, this is wonderful! I must have been a half-wit not to think of it myself! As a matter of fact...this is very helpful indeed...I have a pair of pants that could benefit from this."

"Pants?" Nicole asked, confused, "Why ever would - "

"Well, they're half-assed, of course!"


	7. Intermission

Sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming, but I have an announcement:

This fic is staying innocent. A lot of people have a problem with the age difference, and I, myself, don't really feel like "ruining" what is possibly the only innocent fiction I have ever, in my life, written.

But, since I crave others' opinions, I will still be posting the non-innocent stuff that I have written. It's in my profile, and the story is called "Loss of Innocence." So, if you're one of the people after my own heart, who cried out, "I DON'T CARE! I WANT THEM TO GET TOGETHER!" in a world full of dissention, then I humbly offer Loss of Innocence as a consolation gift.

Thank you for listening. The REAL Chapter Seven will be up, soon enough. 


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